


Draw Your Swords

by angelsnack



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Prohibition, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-05
Updated: 2012-11-29
Packaged: 2017-11-18 01:54:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/555582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelsnack/pseuds/angelsnack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 1926, the Hale's have a relatively successful business in the tiny town of Beacon Hills, but they have their secrets about how they're keeping it afloat. An opposing group threatens to shatter Derek Hale's calm and quiet life, as well as his stability.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**April 1926**  
  
It was a slow morning when Derek entered the shop. Erica poured coffee for the few guests that sat at the counter, she winked at him as he walked past. Tapping a pen against a clipboard, Boyd stood    staring at the shelves toward the back, taking inventory. “How are we looking?” Derek asked.  
  
“In good shape. We’ll only need half the deliveries this week.”  
  
“And?”  
  
“That Chris Argent fellow, he wants our delivery now. Pretty peculiar if you ask me.”  
  
“No doubt ours is better.” Boyd laughed, and they walked to the counter, Erica handed him a cup of coffee.  
  
“I’ll make you some breakfast, kid,” Boyd said to Derek, retreating into the kitchen.  
  
“Who you callin’ kid?” Derek called after him. Sitting down at the counter, he picked up Beacon Hill’s daily paper and read a few headlines. The windows were wide open and a breeze swept over the place, Derek inhaled the fresh air. It was the Spring of 1926, Beacon Hills is just a stretch of road with small stores, a gas station, and houses scattered through the woods surrounding the town. A quiet place despite the abundance of travelers that waltz through. The Hale’s had been there for years, Derek’s uncle, Peter had bought this establishment a few years ago. Not much income came from it, but they did manage, with the help of other business as well. Though he gets lonely, never meeting a new face that sticks around for long, Derek wouldn’t rather be anywhere else.  
  
The few customers that had been there exited the shop. Derek got up, began to wipe clean the counter and soaked up the silence peacefully until the screen door swung open again and a skinny kid came walking through. “Excuse me.” He said. He smelled of cigarette smoke and looked sick, almost as if he would pass out at any moment. Derek walked around the counter to stand in front of him. “Hello, Mr. Hale, sir.” The boy, who straightened his back to appear taller than his average height, stuck out his slightly shaking hand. Derek shook it fiercely, draining the boy’s alpha male act. Derek pulled out a barstool with his foot and sat down, the boy took a deep breath as he watched the man gesture to Erica, the woman behind the counter. She brought a plate of pancakes and a cup of coffee over to him.  
      
“What can I do you for, kid?” Derek’s voice growled out unexpectedly, making the thin, pale boy jump.  
      
“I-I was looking for some work.” He stood behind Derek, hat in his hand, staring at the floor and glancing at the back of the man’s head occasionally. “I haven’t eaten in a few days and I’m just lookin’ to make a few bucks.”  
      
“Sorry, kid, we don’t need no one.”  
      
“Listen, I could sweep up everyday, my sweepin’ is real good,” the boy’s voice dropped to a pleading whine that made Derek begin shaking his head. “I could clean the counters, wash dishes, shine shoes, I’ll do anything.” He came up beside Derek now, leaning in close. A sharp pain in his stomach caused him to suddenly lean over the counter. He clutched his side and wincing, he looked back at the man next to him, who continued to shake his head silently in refusal. “Please, sir, I’ll do it for food. You don’t have to pay me, I’ll do anything, just a few decent meals. I’ll stay out of your hair-”  
      
“We don’t do charity, boy,” Derek cut him off, a flash of anger glinting in his eyes as he turned to the boy. Derek felt a pang of guilt for a moment after seeing the kid’s dark, sunken in eyes. With the overhead light casting dark shadows on the boy’s face, Derek noticed how much like a skeleton he looked.  
      
“Derek Hale!” Erica’s voice boomed across the room, she had been pretending to stock shelves but had been eavesdropping on the conversation. “Come here. Now.” Derek rolled his eyes and got up, his shoulders slumping down. The boy stared at the half eaten pancakes on the counter, his stomach rumbled and pain followed it. He clutched his hat to his stomach and looked around the store. Back behind Derek and Erica stood a couple rows of shelves stocked with basic necessities, the walls were a dark oak, the floor had a thin cover of dust, that the boy had noticed immediately. “This place does need a good sweeping.” He mumbled to himself. He watched Erica fiercely speaking to Derek, her hands moved wildly about her as she spoke. Small snippets of their conversation leaked through the boy’s hearing.  
      
“.....I’m busy all the time! Perfecting your recipe..”  
      
“...we don’t need some kid sneaking around.....”  
      
“You think it’s easy.....”  
      
“....we don’t need him, Erica..”  
      
Beginning to feel dizzy, the boy sat down at the counter. His eyes drifted shut as a light breeze swept in from the screen door, he rested his head against his hand for a few minutes, still hearing the the couple’s chattering. Derek’s loud footsteps make his eyes slowly open again. The large, overly intimidating man sat back down next to him and resumed his meal.  
      
“Boyd!” Erica yelled toward the kitchen.  
      
“You get here at noon and close up at ten thirty. Everyday. Unless I tell you otherwise. Clean up the place, stock shelves, whatever else we tell you to do. Don’t steal anything.” Boyd, a tall, handsome, stocky man came out from the back and set down a plate of pancakes in front of the boy, he winked at the kid then turned back into the kitchen.  
      
“What’s your name, sugar?” Erica asked, setting down a glass of juice next to his plate.  
      
“Genim. Genim Stilinski, but you can call me Stiles,” he looked down at the plate but hesitated eating.  
      
“Alright, Stiles. I’m Erica, you know Derek, and back there is Boyd.” Stiles smiled at her then began carefully cutting up his pancakes. Derek watched the precision the boy took with the food, as if it would be his last meal, as if he was savoring it. Another pang of guilt stabbed Derek in the chest. The boy turned to him. “Thank you, sir. Really, thanks.” The man abruptly stood up, grabbing his coffee and walking toward the front door.  
      
“Stop calling me, sir.”  
      
“Mr. Grumpy. He’ll warm up to you, he always does.” Erica watched Stiles slowly pour syrup over his plate, he glanced up at her, his eyes lit with happiness.  
      
“How long have ya’ll been married?” Erica stared at him for a moment then threw her head back and laughed. From the kitchen Boyd’s deep laugh leaked through the thin wall, Stiles smiled along with her, wondering what he’d said wrong.  
      
“Me and him?” She giggled, glancing through the screen door at Derek who now sat on the porch steps with a newspaper. “God, no, sweetie, we’re not married. We grew up together, got into business together, you know.”  
      
“Business?”  
      
“Erica!” Derek called from the stairs, his voice a mixture of caution and anger, the newspaper crumpled in his hands.  
      
“Alright! Sorry! Sweetie, everything you need is in that cupboard.” Stiles’s eyes followed where she was pointing and he nodded. “Sink is in the back, there isn’t much to wash, slow day, today. Do as much as you can. Ask Boyd if you want anything to eat.”  
      
“Alrighty.”  
      
“You’ll fit in just fine. Where are you staying?” she asked.  
  
“Nowhere, really.”  
  
“Oh! In that case we share a house a mile into the woods, you can stay with us. Derek won’t have a problem with it at all. I’m making dinner, another good meal will do you good,” she said,  pinching his cheek then walking into the kitchen. Stiles finished eating his meal and moved to pick up his plate. Upon standing a haziness swept over him, his full stomach made him drowsy. It had been nine days and thirteen hours since his last meal. He counted every minute he went without eating. The food in his belly felt good, too good, nearly intoxicating. Beacon Hills is the third town he’s been to since his money ran out a month ago. Most took pity on him, giving him a free meal here and there, just enough to keep him alive. When he couldn’t find work he would move on. His weary eyes sunk in too quickly, his hips protruded much too harshly, he could barely stand to lay on the ground for too long and get some sleep. Thoughts of his father filled his days and made his heart ache. His best friend was gone, buried deep underground alongside his wife.  
     
They lived in a one floor house. His father was a sheriff and Stiles worked on a farm. Honest work it was, his muscles would ache at the end of the day but the burn made him proud. On Sundays they would go to church, Stiles loved the way the priest would reel him in with words of scripture and leave him to reflect on the choices he has made and will make. He’ll never forget when his father breathed his last breath and all the time he spent praying felt wasted. Kneeling at the edge of his father’s hospital bed Stiles would pray to the lord not to take him.  
      
 _“Please, god, don’t take him from me, please. I need him. I’m just a kid. I don’t know what to do.... Wasn’t taking mom enough? What will I do, god? Just, please, help him. Please, I don’t have anyone else.... I’m not strong enough.”_  
     
 A week after his father’s death he was thrown out of their house. Taking what savings his father had, Stiles went to the funeral, and slept in the cemetery for four nights. After saying goodbye for the last time he slowly made his way to where he is now. He hasn’t spoken a single prayer since that day.  
  
\----  
      
At the day’s end, Stiles wandered up to the house using Erica’s directions. He stood awkwardly next to the kitchen counter, glancing up every now and again to find Derek’s eyes still watching him. He blushed as he felt the gaze, butterflies fluttering in his stomach. Erica handed him a bowl of salad and told him to sit. He attempted to gently place the bowl onto the table in front of Derek, instead he knocked over the salt and pepper shakers and nearly spilled a glass of water onto the man’s lap. He turned a bright shade of red as he placed the shakers back upright and Derek grunted his amusement. Erica retreated up creaky stairs to get Peter, Derek’s uncle.  
      
“Do I make you nervous?” Derek asked. Stiles cleared his throat, shook his head and shoveled some salad onto his plate. The man couldn’t help but stare, the kid was cute and intriguingly nervous. “I don’t mean to.” His voice dropped and he smiled lightly to put the boy at ease. “I hope you don’t mind the couch.”  
      
“No,” the boy’s voice came out a squeak and he cleared his throat again. “No, I don’t mind at all. Thank you.” He stood politely when Erica and Peter entered the room again. Derek’s uncle walked with a cane, the right side of his face scarred from severe burns, he smiled at Stiles and shook his hand firmly.  
      
“And who are you, boy?”  
      
“Stiles, sir.”  
  
“Sit, sit,” Erica said, serving everyone their food. An uncomfortable silence fell over the table as everyone ate. The meal was over in almost a blink of an eye. “So, what brings you ‘round here?”  
  
 “I’m looking for work, sir.”  
  
“Don’t call me sir. You’re a young kid, don’t you have any family?”  
  
Stiles swallowed. “I used to. They’re gone now. My dad....not too long ago, passed away.”  
  
“Oh, sweetie, I’m so sorry.” Erica touched his shoulder as she got up to pour herself more water. Stiles stared blankly down at his plate and continued speaking.  
  
“Yeah. I was just me and my dad. My mom died a few years ago so we had to be there for each other. We did everything together. I miss him.” Derek and Peter stared at him in unspoken understanding. “I really appreciate this.”  
  
“Don’t mention it. Derek and I both know what it’s like to lose people.” At that, Derek abruptly stood and walked out of the kitchen. Peter sighed and Erica began clearing the table. When they both retired to their room an hour later, Stiles poured two glasses of iced tea and went to find Derek. The floorboards were ludicrously creaky, any attempt Stiles made to be sneaky was ruined. He found the man sitting in the living room on a chair, a book in his hands. He didn’t glance up when Stiles approached so the boy just put the glass of tea on the coffee table in front of him. There were books stacked up on a table next to the chair and Stiles hovered over Derek, inspecting them. The man glanced up.  
  
“Hi.” Stiles smiled, and Derek grunted. Sitting down on the couch, he opened a book of poems and began to read. They fell quiet, each listening to the other’s breathing and the turning of pages. An hour passed and Derek began noticing Stiles struggling to keep his eyes open. He watched the boy drop his head back against the couch, his eyes closed, book slipping down his chest. Derek got up to find a pillow and blanket in a cupboard along the hallway. He slid the book out slowly from beneath Stiles’s hands, the boy let out a low grunt. The man gently pushed his shoulders over and pulled his legs up so they rested on the couch. Stiles’s hand grasped Derek’s arm before he stood up. Eyes flickering open, he whispered. “Dad.” He let go of Derek and the man unfolded the blanket and spread it over the boy’s resting body. “Who did you lose, Derek?” Stiles’s voice said sleepily.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Who did you lose?” Derek swallowed hard, looking at Stiles, who kept his eyes closed. Before clicking off the light, he spoke, his voice softer than a whisper.  
  
“Everyone."


	2. Chapter 2

**June 1926**  
  
Noon rolled around and Stiles decided to go on a supply run so Boyd wouldn’t complain about the lack of flour. And salt. And milk. It seemed to be a slow day for the whole town. Stiles didn’t see anyone as he walked to the store down the road or when he went into the shop or when he walked out again. He strolled into the alley next to the store and lit a cigarette. His shoulders relaxed and he leaned against the brick wall, his back toward the dirt road. Though he didn’t hear the man’s smooth, silent steps, he felt a looming presence behind him, suddenly. A body crashed into him before he had time to look behind. The cigarette flew out of his hand and pain shot up his back as he was slammed against the building. Bringing his hands up, he struggled against the man’s body.  
  
The man, who was tall, fair haired and brooding, slammed Stiles against the side of the shop yet again. As pain radiated over his back, his eyes began to tear. “I can’t believe they got a new guy,” the man said. “These Hale’s are unbelievable. Tobacco stained his breath horribly, his voice was coated with malice. Stiles had no idea what he was talking about. Or why this man was livid. The Hale’s, from what he’s seen so far, were respectable. The man’s fist suddenly collided with his jaw, knocking his head back against the building, hard. “You’re a pretty one, though. Derek must like you.” He smiled. “A lot.” The man’s fist came down onto his face again. then, again. And again, until he allowed Stiles to fall to the ground and shield his face. Then his foot came crashing against Stiles’s ribs once, before he knelt down beside him, grabbing his shirt and forcing them to look at each other. “Where are they making their stuff?”  
  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Stiles choked out, and the man let go of his shirt.  
  
“I don’t have time for foreplay, kid.” He kicked Stiles in the ribs again. “Tell. Me.”  
  
“I don’t....” He writhed.  
  
“Alright, kid.” The man’s foot and Stiles stomach clashed relentlessly until Stiles gasped for air and tried to plead for the kicks to cease. “To be continued, Stilinski.”  
  
 **THREE HOURS LATER**  
  
“Stiles?” Getting up quickly he headed toward the kitchen but Derek was right at his heels and spun him around, knocking the ice out of his hand. Derek studied him, the cut on his lip, eye bruised and puffy, blood leaking through his shirt.  
  
“Who did this to you?” Derek tilted Stiles’ face up toward the light, he tried to shrug away.  
  
“It was Lahey,” Erica said behind them. Derek looked at her past Stiles’s shoulder.  
  
“You’re sure?”  
  
“Derek, it’s fine,” Stiles said softly. Erica nodded at Derek.  
  
“That little fuck. He’s gonna get it once and for all. All of them,” Derek growled and let go of Stiles.  
  
“Derek, no. You know what will happen,” Erica moved to touch Derek’s shoulder but he slapped her hand away.  
  
“I don’t care what will happen!” Derek’s voice echoed through the empty store. “Let them come. Let them. If they think they can just waltz up and do this to someone I ca-”  
  
“Derek! Stop, I’m fine. It’s all fine,” Stiles interjected.  
  
"Stiles, this is bigger than you. There’s more going on. You don’t understand.”  
  
“Then why don’t you explain it to me?” It was Stiles’s voice that echoed through the store, then, he shook with anger and frustration.  
  
“Sweetie...” Erica started.  
  
“No! I am not a child. Stop fucking treating me like a goddamn child. I’m the one that got the shit kicked out of me, I’m the one that could’ve been killed and you two are still gonna keep why it happened a secret? Keeping whatever it is from me isn’t protecting me.” They both stared at him, unable to speak. Derek lost all rage when the tears started falling from Stiles’s eyes. “If you’re just going to look at me, I’ll leave.”  
  
When the sun began to set and his head began to throb, he wandered through the woods and up to the house. It was dark and quiet, the only light came from Peter’s attic. As he wandered around the back, he caught sight of the barn door hanging ajar. He walked in slowly. “Hello?” The dimming light from outside illuminated stacked up cases of mason jars on the far wall. Curiosity overtook him and he grabbed one of the jars and inspected the clear liquid that sloshed around inside. He unscrewed the cap with precision, sniffed at it, then took a sip. His eyes widened and he swallowed, sharp stinging radiated in his throat and chest. Falling into a coughing fit, his eyes watered uncontrollably.  
  
“Derek!” He rasped when the man’s distinctive silhouette stood in the doorway. “Was this the secret?” He shook the jar slightly in Derek’s general direction, the man’s brow was furrowed as he watched the boy lean over, cough and spit onto the ground. “It’s horrible!” Stiles exclaimed looking up at him. There was a moment of silence before Derek laughed a little. Then he laughed some more, having to lean against the crates and clutch his side.  
  
“Secret’s out, then,” he giggled and Stiles laughed, too. Laughed because that was Derek relaxed and because he didn’t have any other response to how beautiful he was when he smiled. “Come on. Bring that with you. It’ll help with the pain.”


	4. Chapter 4

**July 1, 1926**  
  
Boyd, Derek and Stiles rode into the neighboring town, jars rattling in the back. They swung around the back of the town’s church and got out. Derek and Boyd hustled into the basement, each carrying a crate at a time. “Need help?” Stiles stood against the truck.  
  
“No. Stay here,” Derek said. “Give us a few minutes.” He got bored quickly and began pacing, kicking at the dirt. Not another minute passed when he felt rough hands spin him around, and fear overtook him.  
  
Isaac.  
  
He shoved Stiles against the side of the building, knife pressing against the skin of his throat. He smelled of tobacco, still,  his eyes filled with anger yet again as Stiles attempted to control his shaking. “I can smell the fear on you,” Isaac hissed, pressing the knife deeper. “I did such a good job ruining your pretty face. What are you, anyway? The Hale’s little bitch boy?” The woman that stood behind them chuckled, walked over and leaned against the building. She tossed her long, dark hair over her shoulder and crossed her arms.  
  
“Where are they making their stuff?” Her voice was even and calm.  
   
“I-I told you before, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Stiles lied, glancing between them both.  
  
“Oh, you know exactly what we’re talking about. Now tell us.”  
   
Stiles gulped. “I don’t know.” There were a few moments of agonizing silence, Stiles’ heartbeat flooded his hearing, the steady thump thump raising more anxiety.  
  
“Do it,” the woman said. Isaac smirked, keeping his eyes locked with Stiles who began to open his mouth to protest but the knowledge that he was going to die made his words catch in his throat. The knife pressed a little deeper and his vision clouded...  
  
“Let him go,” A deep familiar voice suddenly said behind them. Stiles’s eyes met Derek’s and a wave of relief mixed with an almost uncontrollable urge to cry and run into his arms came over him. The barrel of a gun was pressed against Isaac’s neck. The knife lost it’s harsh pressure for a moment, but didn’t leave Stiles’s skin completely. “Drop the knife.”  
  
“Make me.”  
  
“You really want to test me right now?” The knife fell to the ground and Stiles let out a shaky breath. “Stiles, behind me.” Light Headed, Stiles slid out from under Isaac’s frame and shuffled quickly away from him. Keeping an arms length between him and Isaac, Derek shoved him against the building. When Stiles turned around again he saw that Boyd was pressing a knife to the woman’s throat, and she was angry. “McCall has his own wife doing his dirty work?”  
  
“Better than a scared puppy,” she tilted her head toward Stiles.  
  
“I do my own dirty work, Allison. Now tell Scott to stop comin’ ‘round here. No one has to get hurt....or killed. Stay out of our way.”  
  
“You’re in our way. We had this town and the four others surrounding it first. Get out of our way and you and your bitch boy won’t get hurt,” Isaac sneered.  
  
“Don’t be bitter just because your ex-wife makes a better product than you.” Boyd chuckled and Isaac spit at Derek’s feet. “You’re just asking for it, aren’t you?” Derek growled. “Tell Scott we can work out some sort of system.”  
  
“He doesn’t want any system,” Allison’s voice raised, she tried to step toward Derek but Boyd pushed her back against the building with some force. “He doesn’t want to negotiate. He doesn’t want terms. He wants it all. Stop fucking around and get out of our way.”  
  
“Come on now, we’re all outlaws, shouldn’t we stick together?” Derek smiled slightly. “Now, I’m gonna let you go, cause I’m a nice guy, but if you touch any one of us again, I won’t be so nice. Tell your husband I’m open to negotiating.” He lowered his gun and Boyd stepped away. Allison and Isaac slowly walked back to their car without protest.  
  
“We’re gonna find it, Hale, and we’re gonna burn it down,” Isaac said as he stepped up into the car.  
  
“Just like what happened to your family, Hale, it’s gonna happen again,” Allison said before driving off.  
  
“Yeah, sure,” Derek mumbled, trying to ignore what she had said. “Boyd, you okay to walk home?”  
      
“Always am. See you tomorrow, boys.” They watched him walk back around the building. Derek ran a hand through his hair and placed the gun in the back of his pants.  
   
“I’m sorry,” he said, turning around to face Stiles, who gulped and nodded, blinking tears out of his eyes.  
  
“It’s okay.” Derek stepped closer to him. “I’ll get used to the, uh, being in danger occasionally thing.” Stiles chuckled but Derek’s face remained serious.  
      
“No, you shouldn’t have to. You...you shouldn’t have to. I’m the one that’s put you in danger, I should never have hired you or....or anything.” He walked past Stiles to the car, reached over to shuffle around the passenger side and emerged again. In his hands were four stacks of bills which he thrust at Stiles. “Take that and go.”  
      
“Go?” Stiles blinked. “Go where?”  
      
“Just go....away. Somewhere. I don’t want to see you hurt again, Genim.” Stiles had never heard Derek use his first name until now. It made his heart jump when it escaped the man’s lips. He was hurt and confused. Why now? “I knew that day Erica talked me into hiring you....I knew I’d ruin you. You’re a kid.” Stiles scoffed and shook his head. “You are.” He put his hands on Stiles’ shoulders and shook him a little. “You’re a kid, Stiles, you don’t want to be a part of any of this. You don’t want to turn into me.”  
      
“I don’t want to go. I can’t leave.” Stiles was hurt and confused, he stared back into Derek’s eyes.  
      
“You have to.” He ran a hand through his hair again, pleading with his eyes. “Go. Get away from all this. You’re too young to go through all this. Please.”  
      
“No!” Stiles shouted. “Stop. Stop it, Derek. I’m not going anywhere.” He blinked. “I can’t just leave. I don’t have anything. I have to where to go and I’d rather have a knife to my throat or get beaten up weekly than leave my.....family. You guys are my family now and that mean’s I’m not leaving. I can’t leave you. I don’t want to leave you.” Tears started falling from his eyes before he had time to actually register that he was crying. Derek’s eyes welled, too, but he wouldn’t allow his tears to fall. Even though he knew it would be okay, he could cry without being weak because it was Stiles. Everything was okay. Derek was okay. Dying, now, would mean dying with Stiles by his side and that was okay. Knowing there was loyalty, that Stiles wanted to be there, was enough to abate his anxiety.  
     
When Stiles opened his mouth to speak again, Derek stopped him by easily pushing him against the building. They were almost the same height but Derek still had to tilt his head down slightly to press his mouth against Stiles’s’. The money in his hands dropped to the ground and his hands took place on Derek’s hips to pull him closer, to kiss him deeper. Stiles took a deep breath when they parted, Derek turned toward the car.  
      
“Don’t just leave that there,” Derek pointed at the ground. Stiles stopped and turned back.  
      
“Oh.” He heard Derek chuckle as he picked up the money. “Forgot. Your lips must have turned my head to scrambled egg.”  
      
“They have that effect on people,” Derek smiled and opened the door for Stiles.  
      
“Don’t start treating me like a lady, now.”  
      
“I was just trying to be gentlemanly!” Derek shut the door, Stiles watched him walk around the car and climb in.  
      
“Don't. Don’t go changin’ on me. I like you as you are, scowl, hot head and all.” Stiles leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Why don’t you spend this money?”  
      
“Nothing really to spend it on,” Derek said, starting up the car.  
      
“Let’s spend it on dinner, I’m starving.”  
      
“A romantic dinner?”  
      
“A gentlemanly dinner, please.”


	5. Chapter 5

**August 1926**

Stiles finished cleaning off the few tables. Boyd and Erica emerged from the kitchen laughing as he finished. He offered to close up and shooed them out of the store. After locking the door behind them he retreated into the kitchen and washed the few dirty dishes that resided in the sink. He shut off the lights as he grabbed the trash and went out the back door. A dim light was on overhead as he locked the door and when he turned back around, Isaac was standing behind him on the wooden steps. 

“I thought it was gettin’ too quiet. What do you want now?” Derek’s gun was in the back of his jeans and he gripped it nonchalantly. Isaac noticed but said nothing, his lip was bleeding and both his eyes were bruising. He coughed, hunching over, and spit up blood.

“I need some help,” his voice came out broken and pleading.   

“You’re crazy,” Stiles relaxed, realizing the other man wasn’t a threat, and picked up the trash.

“Please.” The man gripped Stiles’ shoulder as he passed. “They got this new guy. Whittemore. Said his recipe is better than mine, better than yours. The guy is ruthless, he did this,” he coughed and spit again. “To me. He did this to me.” Isaac looked the opposite of how he normally did, shoulders were no longer pushed back in confidence, he looked as if someone was dragging him down toward the ground. He slowly sat on the stairs. “They, Scott, Whittemore and this guy Danny, they don’t want to wipe out just your product, they want to wipe you guys out, too. They want control. They really want everything. Derek won’t comply, they know that, so they’re just gonna take you guys out.”

“Why are you telling me all this?” Stiles sat down next to him.   

“Because, I need help. They don’t know I came here but they’re gonna kill me anyway. They eventually kill all the one’s they set loose. I need protection, Stiles.” Isaac looked down at his hands.

“Derek won’t have it. And Erica....”

“I know. I wanted to give her everything, you know. The only reason I started with Scott was to get some fast money, so we could buy a house. I thought it was going to be a quick job. I wanted to settle down, get a good job, have some kids runnin’ around.” Isaac tilted his head up and stared at the sky. “I tried to leave, Stiles, I tried. Now, I’m in too deep. Scott treats us like slaves, even his wife. We’re his pets, his property. ‘You leave when you die honoring me,’ he said.” He looked back at Stiles, then. “I’ll tell you everything, just protect me, please.”

“Who is this Whittemore?” He ignored the man’s last statement, Isaac turned his head down again.

“Jackson Whittemore. Comes from across the country, I don’t know exactly where. He came with another man, Danny. Scott treated them like family, like old friends, treated them better than his own wife. They’re their own, not Scott’s. They’re more dangerous than him. If you’re around Scott long enough you can easily guess what call he’s gonna make but these guys are erratic. They’re influencing him. They killed, maybe, four of Scott’s men and brought in new ones. These guys they took out had been there longer than me and Scott didn’t raise a question. Just let them barge in, move everything around, change plans, kill at random.” Isaac shook his head, coughed and stretched his legs out. “It’s not shaping up to be a good trio, Stiles. I heard them planning to spread past California’s borders, kill in anyone in their path. It’ll be chaos. If you ever get the chance, take them out. Derek had us, he should have done it. Killing Allison would have meant Scott coming right to his door, then this would all be done with.” Isaac never looked up at Stiles, just continued to stare at his hand, his eyebrows furrowed in pain, it hurt to breathe. He clutched his ribs, they ached, an ache that hadn’t subsided since Jackson’s boot had kicked them.

"I don’t know where you can stay,” Stiles frowned. Isaac stood up ever so slowly, and walked down the stairs as Stiles watched him.

“I’ll find somewhere. Just, just go North through the woods, behind the town over, for five miles. They’re gonna move everything around soon so maybe you can get to it before they do.” He turned, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“Hey, why are you helping us?” Isaac thought for a moment.

“I know Derek is only doing this to help his family, he doesn’t have a choice, but Scott... He’s just doing it to do it. He’s not poor, I don’t know why he’s doing this.” The man rubbed his forehead. Stiles quickly thought over everything, his hand still on Isaac’s shoulder. What would Derek do? Shoot him, probably. Definitely. But Stiles wasn’t Derek.

“You can stay in the barn,” Stiles got up and walked toward Derek’s car. He grabbed a blanket from the back and led Isaac to the small barn. “Try to get out of here by sun up, I’ll leave some food for you for tomorrow night.”

“Thank you.” Isaac rushed toward Stiles, who jumped, and embraced him. “I didn’t think you’d be so nice to me.” Isaac’s arms stayed around him for a minute, then he took the blanket.

“I’ll talk to Derek.” A light smile from the man eased Isaac’s mind for a moment but Stiles knew full well that Derek will not allow him anywhere near the store or the house or the town. It was worth a try to convince him, though. When Stiles looked at Isaac he didn’t see a violent man, he saw someone that had been confused and manipulated into violence. Scott had plagued his thoughts, forced Isaac to be his henchman. Stiles forgave him, even felt bad for him.

“Thanks. Oh, could you give this to Erica?” He took out a torn, folded up sheet of paper from his pocket and extended it toward Stiles. He took it, nodded and began to walk away. “Hey, Stiles?”

“Yeah?”

“End this.” He nodded at Isaac and walked back to the car. He let out a sigh when he climbed in. Staring down at the letter in his hands, he contemplated reading it but shoved it back into his pocket and headed home.

\-----

  
On the bed laid Derek with a book in his hands, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. He regarded Stiles with a glance and grunted as the man walked in.“You took a while coming home. Any trouble?” Stiles shook his head nervously and began unbuttoning his shirt. “Good.” Derek sighed, put down his book and watched him. Stiles’s cheeks flushed as he felt the man’s eyes on him.

“No trouble, but I did see someone,” he sat on the edge of the bed and untied his boots.

“Who?” Derek studied the freckles on the other man’s back.

“It was Isaac,” Stiles swallowed hard, stood up again and pulled down his pants, then proceeded to fold them neatly.

“What did he do to you?” Breathing hard, the man stood and walked over to Stiles. 

“He didn’t do anything.” Derek folded his arms and watched Stiles pile his clothes on the dresser. “They cut him loose. He needs help.” He pulled out a cigarettefrom the top drawer and lit it.

“No,” Derek grunted, walking into the adjoining bathroom to wash his face. Stiles stood in the doorway, inhaling from his cigarette, letting the smoke cloud the tinyroom.

“He said they got a new guy.” Derek peeked at him as he wiped his face with a towel. “Whittemore.”

“He’s lying.”

“No, Derek. He got the shit kicked out of him, he was coughing up blood-”

“He also beat the shit out of you.”

“Will you just listen for a second, you stubborn bastard? Scott’s going to start moving stuff around, but Isaac told me where they’re making their product.” Derek clicked the bathroom light off and walked to the bed, rubbing his eyes.

“I am not a stubborn bastard, I’m trying to protect you, idiot,” he mumbled.

“Hush. We could get there right when they do and take them out.” Derek grunted again.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone, Stiles, I never did,” he sat down with a sigh, Stiles took place beside him.

“They’ll kill us if we don’t.”

“There has got to be another way.”

“Babe, there isn’t, you know that,” Stiles clasped his hand on the other man’s knee. “We have to do something. Why don’t we just leave?” He crushed out his cigarette. “Take all the money and go.” Derek smiled at the hope in the other man’s eyes. He leaned over and kissed him.

“Peter will never leave.” His smile faded. “Our family died here and he’s going to as well. Our blood is here.” Not five years ago did most of the Hale’s die in a horrific fire. That was what propelled Derek into this mess. Erica stood by his side through everything, she was the driving force behind it all. She was the one that kept the store from failing. The one that cared for Peter when Derek couldn’t look at him, because all he saw was his deceased family. She kept him from giving up, from drowning in loneliness. He puts her in danger everyday and she doesn’t care. Guilt is what plagues Derek most of all, guilt because what he started is going to lead to everyone’s imminent death, and he just keeps dragging more people down with him. “You go. Take all the money.”

“Not having this conversation again, Hale.” Stiles got up from the bed and left the room for the kitchen. He came back quickly with two glasses of water, one he placed on Derek’s nightstand.

“I don’t understand why you won’t leave.” Derek grumbled, climbing into bed and pulling the sheets up. Though, he didn’t want Stiles to ever leave, he still tried to get him to go. Maybe he was testing Stiles’s loyalty, or maybe he just doesn’t want to face the day when he’ll have to pour dirt on his grave. Looking at him now, Derek visualizes all the countless ways he may find Stiles lifeless and covered in blood. He thinks of what he might do to Scott if it ever happens. Will he have any strength left to exact revenge? Stiles is his strength, what will he do when that’s taken away?

“Because,” Stiles clicked off the light and settled down in bed next to him. “I love you, Derek Hale.” His hand slid up and rested on Derek’s chest.

“Love you, too,” Derek smiled. “Kid.” Stiles slapped his chest playfully.

“Sir.” Both their eyes drifted shut. “Think about Isaac, okay?” Isaac, who now laid awake in the barn, his ears alert for the sound of footsteps that never came. Scott’svoice was always in his head, and Jackson Whittemore’s angry, scarred face.

“We’ll talk in the morning,” Derek yawned, then slowly drifted off. 

\-----

    It was dawn when Stiles woke again. He left Derek in bed and dressed himself. In his pants pocket still lay Isaac’s note. The kitchen was empty, only Peter could be heard shuffling around upstairs. Stiles decided to bring up some juice to the man before he left for the day.

“Come on in,” Peter’s voice said after Stiles knocked. The door creaked open eerily, the scent of paint slapped Stiles’ senses. Peter walked across the room toward him, leaning on his cane for support. “Hello, there.” He said cheerfully. It was the first time Stiles had seen the attic. Four easels were stationed around the double window at the far end of the room. Some paintings hung on the walls, others leaned against each other on the floor. Peter’s bed was neatly made, and a candle burned on a small table in the corner, where a bookcase resided next to it.

“Brought you some juice,” Stiles smiled. “And the day’s paper.”

“Thank you, boy.” Peter stuffed the paper under his arm and sipped the juice.

“These are really good, you know.” He was turned upward toward a painting on the wall.

“Thank you,” Peter slowly made his way over to him. “Some of my best work was lost in the fire, though.” He looked down at the floor gravely. “Derek can paint you know.” Peter went to sit down at the small table.

“Can he?”

“I thought him. Prefers to sketch but he can paint.”

“I didn’t,” He shook his head. “I didn’t know that about him.”

“He is very talented,” Peter sounded proud but his eyes casted a sadness. It was quiet for a moment. “He loves you, very much. You’re good for him.” Stiles smiled shyly.

“Thanks. I best be opening the shop.”

“Of course, of course, get out of here.”  
  
A ray of sunlight cast onto the ground of the barn as Stiles opened the creaky door. The usual must filled his nose and he peered into the darkness of the corner. “Isaac? Brought you some water.” He kicked the door open wider to allow light to fill the entire structure. Stiles spotted the stain of blood on the blanket that covered Isaac’s limp body. “Aw, no.” He gently touched Isaac’s shoulder to turn him over. Lifeless eyes stared past him, blood trickled down the side of Isaac’s mouth, a knife still wedged in his side. Stiles scanned over the body, his eyes filled with tears without him thinking. He extended a hand to close the man’s eyes.

The barn was secured once again and Stiles waited for everyone to come in for the day. Erica kissed him on the cheek as usual and tended to the morning’s customers. He went out to meet Derek when he heard the car coming down the road.

“Hey,” Derek smiled when Stiles approached him, but it soon faded.

“It’s Isaac.” Stiles gestured toward the barn and Derek exited the car with a grim look on his face. As they walked around the building to the barn, Erica wiped down the counter in the store and hummed. The screen door opened and swung shut, a heady scent of cigar smoke filled the storefront. Erica looked up and smiled at the man as he approached a barstool and sat down. A noticeable scar ran from his eyebrow down to his lip. Boyd’s radio played loudly in the back, jazz trickled through the wall, Erica tapped her foot to the beat.

“What can I get you today?”

“Coffee,” the man smiled genuinely, his green eyes lit up. Freckles peppered his cheeks, his jawline sharp. He wore dark slacks, a white tucked in shirt and maroon suspenders. Over the mask of smoke that lingered on his skin and clothing, Erica could smell cologne as she poured his coffee. The man turned around as the door opened again.

“Hello, sweetie,” Erica said to Stiles as he walked nervously past her and into the kitchen. The man watched suspiciously as he sipped his coffee. The jazz music cut out, Stiles and Boyd emerged from the kitchen and made way for the front door. Erica ignored them, she began to sweep the dirt Stiles had tread on floor.

“Young kid you got workin here,” the man said.

“He ain’t that young,” Erica said calmly. She put the broom back into the cupboard and stood in front of the man. He placed a cigarette between his lips.

“You’re feisty, aren’t you?” He glanced up at her, flame from the lighter making his eyes glow.

“Not really, no.” Leaning in to rest her elbows on the counter, she smiled. “You’re not from around here are you?”

“No, ma’am. Just moved here actually. On business.” He studied her intently, eyes unblinking. It made her nervous for some unknown reason. He finished his coffee, pushing the cup down across the counter, so nothing was between them. With slow, rehearsed movements he leaned in closer, inhaling from his cigarette. “What’s your name, miss?”

“Erica, sir.” He grunted and smiled. Slowly, he reached to the right of him, extinguishing the cigarette in the empty cup.

“Erica? The Erica that works for Derek Hale?” She blinked at him, startled. His kind features suddenly turned harsh and hateful, eyes exuding anger. She began to move away but his hand quickly grabbed the back of her head and slammed her back onto the counter. Blood trickled down from her nose when he raised her head back up, his fist harshly twisting her light hair. Her hands pushed on the countertop, attempting to pry away from his grasp, but her efforts proved useless. “This has gone on long enough.” His face was close to hers, his breath warming her cheek. He took out a knife from his back pocket. “I like Scott, I do, but he need to work on his confrontational skills.” The knife pressed against Erica’s neck. “Letting you run around and take our money, steal our business, what kind of man would allow that to happen?” Erica stayed silent, her eyes welling with tears. “You’re lucky I’m under his order. ‘Don’t kill them,’ he said.” The man rolled his eyes. “I’m just wondering how many chances he’s going to give you. If it were me, you’d all be dead. I could kill you.” The knife pressed deeper. “I don’t care what Scott says, I’ll kill him, too. Kill everyone and take everything. Or I could keep you. Your product is good, no doubt better than that monkey’s piss Lahey was making. He told me he married you. ‘Promise me you won't hurt her’ he cried out, right before I killed him.

Erica stared in astonishment at the man, tears falling freely from her eyes, now. “You still cared about him, didn’t you?” the man asked. “Maybe I should reunite you both.” She struggled against his grasp. The man glanced at the clock on the wall behind them. “This is your second warning, okay? You tell Hale he has two weeks to shut down his operation. Two weeks.” The knife cut her as he pulled away. “Thanks for the coffee.” He winked at her and exited the store.

With shaky hands Erica wiped the blood from her nose. Her head pounded as she walked out of the store and around to the barn where Derek, Stiles and Boyd were speaking intently. Boyd, as always, was the first to see her and ran over.    

“What happened?” He took her in his arms as she began to cry. Stiles walked over with concern and gently rubbed her shoulder.

“One of Scott’s men,” she said into Boyd’s chest when she felt safe again. Derek crossed his arms, trying to control his growing anger. “I’ve never seen him before. I don’t know who it was.” Stiles glanced at Derek.   

“It had to have been Whittemore,” Stiles said.  

“He said we have two weeks, Derek,” she extracted herself from Boyd’s arms. “What are we going to do?” They all stared at him, then. Anxiety raised in his throat. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want to lose them all, but he wanted them to be safe. All of this was his fault. If Jackson gets them, their blood will be on his hands. He contemplated telling them to go, like he had told Stiles countless times. They wouldn’t when Scott was the showrunner but stakes have changed, and maybe they’ll listen to reason.    

“You know Peter won't leave but you guys can,” Derek began. Stiles turned around and ran his hands through his short hair in exasperation. “You can have the life you want without staring in the face of danger all the time.”   

“What makes you think this isn’t the life we want?” Boyd asked, stepping toward Derek. “I have my girl, you have Stiles, we’re a family. Family sticks together, unconditionally. You gave me a choice, Derek. ‘You can do this or get another job somewhere else I just want you to know what you’re getting into’. You told all of us that. You told us a million times that we could leave but we didn’t. Leaving you and Peter wouldn’t mean a life of happiness for any of us. Leaving would mean allowing you to die and not having tried to protect you. This isn’t all on you, Derek, it’s on all of us.” Derek stared at the ground for a while. “Even if we stop, Scott is still going to come after us. I see only one option.”   

“We could stop everything and move. It’ll be difficult I know but Peter understands what’s going on, we can convince him,” Stiles reasoned.   

“He’s a stubborn man, but it could work if we promised a return to Beacon Hills when this blows over,” Erica said.  

“And what makes you think Scott won’t track us down?” Asked Boyd, skeptically. Derek sighed, agitated. He didn’t understand why they cared so much about him when all he’s done is bring danger into their lives.   

“Guys, just, close the shop for today and let me think about everything,” Derek began walking away from them.  

“Uh, guys, what about the barn situation?” Stiles gestured behind him. The other men suddenly remembered why they were originally out there.  Derek turned on his heels. “Boyd, take Erica home. Stiles and I can handle this.” Erica protested when Boyd took her arm. She stormed past Derek and into the barn but stopped when she saw the body.  

“He said.....,” Erica knelt down. She brushed Isaac’s hair with her fingers. “What was he doing here?”  

“Erica, please, just go,” Derek raised his voice.

“Derek! I love you and all but have some compassion,” Stiles mumbled. “Go outside.” He knelt beside Erica, putting his arm around her. “Scott cut him loose and he came to me last night looking for somewhere to stay.” She nodded, tears falling once again. “Derek was gonna talk to him this morning but we were too late. He wanted me to give you this.” He stood and put a hand in his pocket, then handed the note to her. She took it with shaky hands, then they walked out of the barn together.

“I’m sorry, Erica,” Derek said. “I was just trying to protect you.”

“I know.” She smiled sadly at him, it only made him feel worse. Boyd took her home as Stiles and Derek tended to the body.


	6. Chapter 6

_Dearest Erica_   
_I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. For everything. I didn’t mean to get_   
_wrapped up in all of this. Believe me when I say I tried to leave. I_   
_should have found better work when we first wed. This is all my_   
_fault. I dragged you into this, too. I still love you. I never stopped_   
_loving you. Everyday I wish to return to you, I know you won’t_   
_have me. I don’t deserve you. Whoever is lucky enough to have_   
_your love better hold onto it and not let go._   
_Just know how much it has pained me to have had to hurt the_   
_ones you care about, and in doing so, I’ve hurt you. I’m going_   
_to pay for it, in death, if I’m not paying for it already. I know I_   
_don’t have many days left. I am filled with more fear now than_   
_I have ever before. But don’t feel bad for me. Do not mourn me_   
_when I am gone. I’m not worth it._   
_I hope the rest of your life is filled with joy and know that the only_   
_time I felt true happiness was when I had you._

_Isaac_

\----

A figure loomed in the doorway as Erica folded up the note and placed it on the nightstand. Turning, she faced Derek. His hands shook slightly and he shoved them in his pockets. Red, puffy eyes made him look older than his twenty five years. Erica opened the drawer to her table, taking out a notebook, she gently placed the note between it’s pages.

“I’m going to get him, you know,” Derek spoke eerily quiet and brooding. A bruise had developed across her forehead and nose, he glanced over it and swallowed hard. “They’re gonna pay.” He turned to leave but lingered in the doorway. A hand touched his back, he tensed, but as it ran up and down, he relaxed. 

“It’s fine,” she mumbled and he turned quickly, putting his arms around her.

“It’s not fine. Stiles said it was fine when Isaac came after him. It isn’t fine. None of this is fine.” Erica sighed into his chest.  

“Will you go get some sleep, please?”

“I won't sleep.”

“I know, I know.” They stepped away from each other. “You’ve been better since Stiles got here.” A shy smile broke across Derek’s face, Erica swore he saw him blush, and he looked down. It reminded her of when they were younger and Derek had his first crush. He would stand around the boy idly, awaiting him to notice. He even combed his hair down perfectly, every morning. Erica would call him desperate and he would pout and cross his arms. He looked like he did all those years ago sometimes, especially when he’s around Stiles. “He’s good for you.”

“I know. I’ll see you in the morning. Don’t go into the store.”

“Derek, it’s fine. I can work.”

“Do not go into the store.” She rolled her eyes and forced him out of the room.

\----

“Closing down is the best option.” The store was littered with customers, Boyd hovered over the stove, back to back with Derek, who washed a pile of dishes. Derek grunted a response to the other man’s statement. “It’s your call though. Just decide and we’ll take care of it together.” Derek brooded behind him, furiously scrubbing the dishes, hot water splashing up at the apron he wore. Talking to Stiles didn’t help him. Sleeping didn’t help. Nothing helped make the decision easier.

“We’ll-” Derek started.

“Why does the busiest day have to happen when Erica isn’t here?” Stiles stormed into the kitchen, exasperated voice cracking. He knelt down and began rummaging through the cabinet at Derek’s feet. “Where the hell is the salt?”

“We have no salt?” Derek dropped the plate he was washing back into sink.

“No....Are you wearing a pink apron?” Stiles smiled at him. “He’s wearing a pink apron.” Boyd giggled behind them.

“It’s Erica’s! I’ll run to the store.”

“I’ll go with you so we can stop by Lydia’s since we’ll be in town.”

“I can hold down the fort, boys.” Boyd said calmly, flipping a pancake onto a plate.

“It’s insane-”

“I can handle it.” He took three plates of food out to the front. Stiles shrugged and followed him. Patrons were eating happily at the scattered tables around the shop. Boyd refilled coffee cups and spoke warmly to everyone. “No one can replace Erica, but I’m a good imitation of her.” He winked at Derek as he walked past.

  
\----

Driving up a dirt road, Stiles hummed and tapped the steering wheel. “You seem jolly.”

“I feel good about today.” He looked over at Derek then back at the road.

“You do know we’re going to buy explosives to destroy an illegal moonshine business, right?” As the words came out of his mouth, Derek envisioned the events in his mind, his eyes closed in reflex as he saw the bright yellows and oranges of fire in his mind’s eye. Stiles’s hand made it’s way up his thigh soothingly.

“It’s going to be fine.”   

“I don’t want to do this.” Tears suddenly filled his eyes as he realized how scared he was. Stiles didn’t know the extent of Derek’s nervousness and was surprised by his sudden evocation of emotion. The truck was pulled to the side of the road. Stiles slid over the seat and pulled Derek into his arms. The man instantly began shaking with sobs, hot tears falling and staining Stiles’s shirt. “I feel like I’m just doing what happened to my family. When I think about what we have to do I keep seeing their faces....burning.” Stiles inhaled sharply, he was startled by Derek’s willingness to speak of what had happened to him.   

“It’s not going to make me feel any better, Stiles. I’m still just spreading my pain onto other people.” He let go of the other man and stared out of the window. “I see us doing it and I see the flames, then I hear my uncle’s screaming. Clear as day, I hear it.” He paused. “You know, when I went to see him in the hospital, he was still screaming, but not because of the physical pain he was in. He was screaming in agony because of what he had lost. Then, they took him to surgery. When he woke up after that he wouldn’t stop groaning and whimpering. When I came in, he stopped. I could hardly bare to look at him, all bandaged up and in unimaginable pain, but he looked at me with tears in his eyes. And I knew instantly that we shared a certain amount of that pain. His eyes seemed to say, ‘you’re not gonna go through this alone’, he knew what I’d do. He knew I’d just suck all that pain up, keep it inside myself, and it would destroy me. I did it anyway. Even though I knew he was there for me. It’s still killing me.” Stiles watched his shoulders begin to shake again, though no tears fell. 

“How can I put someone else through what I’ve been through, Stiles?” The other man looked at him, voice coming out a whisper.

"They’ll put you through even more pain if we don’t do this. The only way we can live....The only way I can help take away your pain is if we eliminate them. I need to help you. I want to take it all away. I want to live with you....without fear. You can’t live with this alone anymore.” Stiles hesitated. “I love you too much to see you in this much pain.” Derek nodded silently. “Let’s get this over with.” Stiles pulled back onto the road and Derek took his hand. It didn’t take long to arrive at Lydia’s reasonably sized farmhouse. A light mist in the air gave the lake adjacent to the house an eerie overcast. Upon hearing the truck pull up, a light haired woman came crashing out through the screen door and onto the porch. She waved eagerly as they stepped out of the truck, as if to distinguish herself amongst a crowd of people. The dress she wore had a white powder lightly covering it, her hair was unruly and pulled messily into a ponytail. Her books click-clacked on the wood of the stairs as she stepped down and hugged Derek.

“How are you, dear?” She asked excitedly.

“Uneasy. How are you?”

“I’m great! Who is this handsome young man?” Breaking away from Derek she stepped toward Stiles and embraced him.

“This is Stiles.” She smelled of flowers and Stiles inhaled the scent as she squeezed him. They walked into the house, Lydia’s arm linked with his.

“Now, tell me what the problem is, sweetie.” She led them through to the tiny living room. Stiles sat on a recliner, resting one ankle over a knee. Derek sat on the low sofa, crossing his legs at the ankle and resting them on the coffee table. Lydia walked into the kitchen to get them tea and Stiles eyed the photographs that lined the wall. Half were of Lydia and Derek from a few years prior, one in particular caught his eye. It was of Peter and Derek standing in front of the store, holding a deed. Derek’s smile was remarkable. Stiles wondered what it would take to see him smile like that again.

“Did you ever know a Jackson Whittemore?” Derek asked when Lydia emerged holding a tray of glasses.   

“Yeah, back in Boston. We grew up in the same town, how’d you know.” She let down her hair, grabbed a cigarette from the pack on the coffee table then tossed it at Stiles.

“What was he like?” Derek ignored the question. Lighting a cigarette, Stiles grabbed a glass of tea with his free hand. She sat down next to Derek.   

“He was decent. Handsome. He turned sixteen and packed up all his stuff and left. He was an orphan, so I knew he had a thick skin. He could make it on his own. How do you y’all know him?”   

“He’s one of our problems,” Derek repositioned himself so that he was facing her. “He’s with Scott McCall now, the guy that’s giving us all sorts of problems.”  

“So, he didn’t turn out good, then?

“Not at all,” Stiles jumped in. “One of Scott’s men, Isaac, came to us for help. Jackson had beat the crap out of him then came back to finish him off-”   

“Before he left he gave a warning to Erica for us to stop,” Derek looked down at his hands, anger building.   

“But even if we do-”  

“He’ll come after us.”   

“I see, so, your only option is explosives. You guys will be able to handle it, right?” Lydia stood up.  

“We’re more than capable. I’ll go pull the truck ‘round back.” She led Stiles down a dusty staircase that lead to the basement. Light flooded the room and illuminated crates of dynamite. “What is it that you’re blowing up?”  

“A barn. We think. Where did you get this stuff?”  

“I know a guy.” The other entrance to the basement opened and Derek stepped down. “One crate should be plenty. Easy on the brakes while you’re driving.” Derek took the crate and Lydia followed them up to the truck. “Before you blow him up, tell Jackson I said hello. And be careful.”  

“Yep,” Derek said.   

“No, I mean it, Derek Hale. Be. Careful.”   

“We’ll be fine.” Stiles watched them hug then stepped into the truck. He heard them whisper to each other for a moment then she yelled her goodbye at them.


	7. Chapter 7

A badly preserved dirt road led to a barn miles into the woods. It took them an hour to drive all the way up to it, explosives rattling in the back. When they got there, they each set off in different directions around the structure. Stiles and Boyd waited for Derek’s signal, a loud whistle. They shambled in and found stacks and stacks of moonshine on the right hand side of the barn. To the left was a big contraption used for production. McCall’s main base, all the other’s scattered around the woods were just storage spaces. Working quickly, the men easily dispersed the explosives around the barn.    

“Stiles, go put some on the outside,” Derek told him. He moved quickly around the building, sweat beginning to bead on his forehead in anticipation. Before he knew it, two strong hands closed around his neck and forced him to his feet.    

“To what do I owe the displeasure?” The hand’s belonged to Jackson, his green eyes filled with an unruly amount of rage. Stiles jerked against his grasp as he was led back into the barn. There stood Derek and Boyd with their hands raised, Boyd’s lip already bleeding from one of the men. In the center of the barn, who Stiles concluded, was Scott McCall. He finally had a face, though he didn’t look like what Derek had described him as. He had brown, puppy dog eyes and dark hair slicked back. He wore a black suit that fitted him exceptionally. The light from above glinted off of his gun, making the barrell shimmer as it pointed toward Derek.   

Jackson’s hands released Stiles’s throat, though, when he tried to move toward Derek he was jerked back, a knife pressed against his side. He heard distant cries that got louder and louder until Erica was forced into the barn by Allison. Dress torn and face bloody, she fell to her knees on the ground sobbing.   

“What did you do to her?” Boyd asked ever so calmly. Jackson laughed from behind Stiles and Boyd glared at him, then fixed his eyes onto Erica. He tried to tell her that they would all get out of this. And that they’ll live without fear, with just one look. She never looked up, just cried, and tried to pull up her torn dress to cover her shoulders.   

“Be quiet, both of you. I have the two things you both love most, so don’t challenge me,” Scott’s voice didn’t sound at all intimidating, though he did speak with slight authority. And Stiles did want to challenge him.

“You don’t have me,” he said.  

“Stiles. Don’t.” Derek warned and shot him a look. Scott turned and walked up to him. “Better watch yourself, kid.”   

“You don’t scare me. None of you do. Not you, behind me, pressing the knife against my back. Or you,” Stiles stared right into Scott’s eyes. “The one who pretends to be tough, when really you’re just a bored kid.”   

Scott laughed. “What a loyal puppy you have here, Hale. I’ve known you for all of three minutes and I’m already sick of you. Now, be quiet.” The knife pressed in a little deeper, snapping Stiles’s mouth shut. “Alright. So, how can we solve all this?”   

“There’s only one way,” Boyd sneered. “Either you kill all of us or we kill all of you.” Scott scoffed.   

“Very true.” Suddenly, the knife slipped into Stiles’s back. Gunshots rattled through his eardrums. Everything slowed as he saw Derek pull a gun from behind his back and fired. Jackson shoved Stiles to the ground, and began shooting at Derek who ran behind a shelf of jars. Boyd scattered as well, pulling Erica to her feet and dragging her to partial safety. Stiles crawled away from the line of fire, leaving a trail of blood in his wake. He heard grunts and yells. He felt helpless with no weapon and blood leaking from his back. The loss of blood was making his dizzy and he shouted when he felt a hand on his shoulder.   

“It’s okay. It’s okay,” Derek’s voice soothed him. “You’re not doing good. This is almost over, Jackson’s dead, and I got Scott right in the leg.”   

“It happened so fast.”   

“I know,” he sighed. Stiles knew he never wanted to do any of this. “Almost over.”   

“Derek!” Erica yelled. He bolted up, in view was her standing across from Scott, Allison holding her from behind, Scott’s gun pointed at her.   

“Almost over is right, Derek. Finally. Almost over.” Derek couldn’t see Boyd and he knew Stiles was bleeding out. “She’s all you have left, Hale. I know this will break you. She was the one that helped with your uncle, right? Now, what will you do when you have no one? No one to keep you afloat?” He cocked the gun. Derek didn’t notice Boyd crawling and beginning to stand. He only saw Erica’s broken face, her tears, and only heard her cries.   

“I’m sorry.” He said, frozen in place. Scott pulled the trigger, Stiles shot into Derek’s line of sight, taking the bullet in the shoulder and knocking only Erica onto the ground. Boyd, in turn, came up behind Allison, thrusting a knife into her back. That gave Derek enough time to come up behind Scott, as he was yelling for Allison, and open his throat with one swipe of his blade. Only one of Scott’s men stood at the side of room and he ran up to Derek.   

“No!” The man said, raising his hands. “I’m done with this bullshit.” He moved around the knife outstretched from Derek’s hand and knelt beside an unconscious Stiles. “Help me get him to your truck.” Derek didn’t move, just stood unblinkingly at the abated chaos, the blood, and the bodies. It all happened so quickly. Like a dream. “Hale!” The man shouted, breaking him from his trance. “Do you want him to bleed out?”   

“Why?” Derek asked as he pulled Stiles up by the shoulders. “Why are you helping us, now?”   

“Be careful. Be careful,” Erica said from the ground. She hovered over Boyd, who was slowly blinking, a pained expression on his face.   

“If you didn’t kill him, I was going to. Those bastards were delusional, thinking they could take over the goddamn world with moonshine. Idiots. Jackson said, ‘it’ll only be a few weeks, I just need back up’. Then, he wouldn’t let me leave.” They gently set Stiles down onto the back seat. Boyd and Erica came limping out and sat close together on the passenger side, never letting each other’s hands go. “Acted like he owned me. Then, I met McCall. Delusional idiot doesn’t begin to explain him, but, of course, you know that. Thanks, for killing him. I appreciate it. Now get to a hospital before your friend joins Scott in hell. Don’t worry about this,” The man gestured toward the large barn. They shook hands firmly, then Derek climbed into the care, thinking it useless to ask questions.   

“Hey, what’s your name?”   

“Danny.” He smiled broadly before turning his back. Derek peeled away, and the car fell into an exhausted silence. He let out a shaky breath. It’s over. He’s done. For good. He smiled and pressed harder on the gas pedal, eyes filling with tears. The second he looked into the rearview mirror, he saw the flames lick up against the night sky. Instantly, his shoulders relaxed. And he smiled.


	8. Chapter 8

**July 1927**

“Wake up,” Stiles pulled the blankets off of Derek’s body. The scent of bacon leaked up through the floorboards below, as it has been doing since Stiles and Derek moved into the apartment above the shop. Stiles began jumping on the bed.   

“No,” Derek groaned.   

“Wake up. Wake up. Wake up. We’ve got customers.” He dropped to his knees, now straddling Derek. The other man blinked up at him, and interlaced their fingers. He gazed at the gold band around Stiles’s finger. “Get up, sleepy.” Derek grunted and the other man smiled at him, then rolled off. “Danny got our delivery. You need to stock the shelves.”

“I thought I was the owner.” He sat up. “Shouldn’t I be giving the orders?”   

“No way!”   

When Derek, finally, got downstairs, the store was bustling. He sat down at the vacant seat at the end of the counter. Stiles soon sauntered over holding a pot of coffee. “Coffee, sir?” He brushed shoulders with him and poured a cup. Boyd came out of the kitchen with a plate of pancakes and set them in front of Derek. Erica wandered back into the kitchen after giving Derek a warm hug. Danny loudly stacked cans in the corner of the store and Peter stood behind an easel in the corner. Everything was back to normal. He began to eat, surprisingly calmed by the hustle and bustle around him. He was happy. And he had Stiles to thank for that. Stiles, the one that kept him going throughout all of this chaos. He loved him with every bit of himself. Derek didn’t need anything or anything else. After all of this, Stiles is the one that counts.


End file.
